Being Old Sucks
by UnicornsRKickass
Summary: Stan and Kyle make it to their elderly years still trapped in a failed, hateful marriage, but a final brawl over Raisin Bran kills them.


Stan rolled out of bed grumpily, a loud popping sound emitting from his ancient bones in the process. He groaned as he felt his hip bone snap in half. "Ooh fuck, I broke my hip again!"

"SHUT UP, I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!" his 88 year old husband yelled. He wearily grabbed a bottle of pills and threw it across the room towards his direction.

Stan tried to duck, but then his other hip broke and he fell on the floor, screaming in pain. "FUCK YOU!" he yelled back, giving his lover the middle finger as he clutched his stomach on the carpet.

"Maybe if your dick wasn't a shriveled up prune." Kyle mumbled.

"YOU SMELL LIKE A BABY'S COFFIN!" Stan fired back. "I'M GOING TO GO EAT RAISIN BRAN. I HOPE YOU DIE!"

He managed to stand again and slowly limped into the kitchen of their small retirement village apartment, bones snapping and crackling and popping the whole way. Just like Rice Krispies. Only they stopped producing Rice Krispies back in 2050, when studies showed it gave people super cancer (a new resistant form of cancer that occurred after they finally cured regular cancer). So now, all he had left to eat every morning was Raisin Bran.

Stanley could easily say that Raisin Bran was the only good thing left in his life. Those sugar-coated raisins every morning made life worth living. Not only that, they made the 20 pills a day to sustain a mediocre level of health worth popping. All so that he could eat those little raisins every day. Because any other kind of food made him poop his pants.

He dragged himself to the cabinet and pulled out the box of cereal. Getting milk or a bowl was a bitch, so he just sat down and opened the box. He poured a handful of the cereal into his palm and started sifting through it, searching for those little raisins. There weren't any raisins in the first handful. He poured some more and sifted through it again. Still, there were no raisins. So he pulled a pair of magnifying focals out from his pocket and searched inside the box, shaking it back and forth in hopes of finding some little buggers hiding in there. He felt like a paleontologist searching for dinosaur bones. Funny, because he felt much like a dinosaur himself nowadays.

But there was still no trace of any raisins in there. Absolutely nothing. Only flakes.

He gripped the box tightly and crumpled it in his hand. A sharp pain shot through his wrist, but it was nothing he wasn't used to. He ignored it and, with all his might and energy, pushed himself up again and made his way back into the bedroom. He then glared directly at the old shit-face that lay curled under a blanket.

"You.." he cried weakly. "_You_ ate all the raisins!"

Kyle rolled over with some extreme difficulty, then looked at him through squinted eyes. He managed to give a half-shrug. "There were no bagels left."

He felt the anger rise up inside him. The least he could have done was told him, before he made that awful trip across the Sahara desert known as their tiny living space just to find that the raisins had already been plucked out and eaten by someone else. "That's it!" he yelled, using his only good foot to limp towards the bed. Kyle moaned and rolled off of the bed, falling face flat on the floor. His ribcage started to ache in every spot. "Fuck." he mumbled, wincing in pain.

When he saw Stan hovering above him with their antique lamp in his hand, ready to strike, he grabbed one of his ankles and bit it. "Agghh!" Stan yelled. He lost his balance and dropped the lamp. He tumbled over on top of his decrepit old lover, nearly pushing the air out of both of their windpipes.

Kyle huffed and gasped for his breath, but could not find it. He only managed to speak in a strangled squeak of a voice. "Get..off of me..asshole.."

But the old man crushing him was immobile with pain; his spine had been officially split into pieces and it was now near impossible to move. "I can't..I'm stuck." he groaned, reaching towards the air, as though he could grab onto something invisible for help.

Kyle felt his ribs being crushed like twigs. "You..dumb fuck.."

They both laid there, speechless for a few minutes. Kyle wasn't sure where his senile mind had gone during that time, but he felt himself drift back into consciousness and managed to utter out one simple sentence. "We're..we're going to die."

Stan opened his heavy wrinkled eyelids. "I know."

"I hhh..haaate you."

"I hate you too." he mustered in defeat.

* * *

Everything went black. When he opened his eyes, it was still black. Stan sat up huffing, thinking he had died or something. But he was still laying on Kyle. And he wasn't an old man anymore. He looked around and saw a bit of moonlight shining through a window. A clock on the wall read 3AM. Cartman and Kenny were on the floor nearby in sleeping bags, snoring.

Whew. So it _was_ all just a dream.

He rolled away from Kyle, unsure how he had managed to roll on top of him in the first place with his own sleeping bag being far away. Kyle mumbled something and sat up as well, rubbing his eyes. "Dude, I kept trying to push you off, you were squishing me." he said.

"What?"

"I heard you yelling something about raisins in your sleep, and then suddenly you started attacking me. Did you have a bad dream, or something?"

"Uhhh, yeah." Stan replied, feeling weird. "A _really_ bad dream."

Kyle didn't respond, he just rolled back over and tried to go to sleep. Stan returned to his own sleeping bag and zipped it up. He lay there for a few minutes staring at the ceiling, before he woke Kyle up again.

"Kyle? Psst, Kyle?"

"What?" he grumbled back.

"We'd never..get married, right?" he asked fearfully.

Kyle took a moment to think. It was 3AM, and such random questions made his brain hurt. Not to mention, it was a hella weird question. "Dude, I'm not gay." he finally said.

"OK, good." Stan replied. Without another word, he drifted back to sleep.


End file.
